“What is the matter with you, Henry?” she asked.
“Oh, not much,” I answered. “Only that Weir has been making me rather uncomfortable.”
“What has he been doing?” she inquired, in some alarm. “It is not possible he has done anything wrong.”
My wife trusted him as much as I did.
“No—o—o,” I answered. “Not anything exactly wrong.”
“It must be very nearly wrong, Henry, to make you look so miserable.”
I began to feel ashamed and more uncomfortable.
“He has been falling in love with Martha,” I said; “and when I put one thing to another, I fear he may have made her fall in love with him too.” My wife laughed merrily.
“Whal a wicked curate!”
“Well, but you know it is not exactly agreeable.”